


Life's a bitch

by TabbiAbbi



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Hurt Bucky, Mild Gore, Sarcastic Bucky, Sarcastic till the end of the line, Where the Hell is Steve?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-21
Updated: 2015-11-21
Packaged: 2018-05-02 17:30:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5257385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TabbiAbbi/pseuds/TabbiAbbi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's always had a hard life, between Steve being a little runt and getting sick constantly, to falling off a damn train. When was life going to give him a break?<br/>Apparently not anytime soon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life's a bitch

He could feel the melting snow underneath him seeping into his clothes, feel the frostbite nipping at his fingertips; he could still feel it even after all this time. His chest was heaving, a wet cough making its way out of his throat; maybe it was blood or maybe it was the phlegm of an early cold he would surely have if he survived; which, he was sure he wouldn't. The cold must have already claimed his left arm considering he could not feel it, but now that he put thought into it, as his eyes drifted closed, he could not feel much of his body anymore.

Heavy footsteps, a male most likely, heavy enough to shake the ground and create a rough melody with the crunch of snow under rubber; that was the first thing he could focus on besides the numbness that had now spread throughout his whole body. The toe of the rubber boot that had been making the, now horrendously loud, song nudged his, fortunately undamaged, right side.

“Can you stand?” Said the large, now confirmed man—German man, standing next to his head looking down at his body.

His eyes narrowed and thought 'Do you really think I'd be laying here if I could?' His head was still pounding and his vision was swimming. Was this man even real? Would he actually survive this just to face the wrath of serious frostbite and a lung-hacking worthy cold? Before he got lost any further in his sea of questions, he followed his body's flow and did something from muscle memory: a shrug.

“I thought so...” Huffed the man, “Don't move too much.” He stated as he walked around him, observing what he could only assume was the many bruises and the possible visible bone from the fall he took. A warm hand was placed on his left shoulder, giving what he could only assume was supposed to be a comforting squeeze.

“Do you feel anything?” The, now that he had a much clearer view, soldier asked, eyes scanning his left arm and left side, gently poking and prodding spots that must have had the least or worst amount of damage, he couldn't be sure if this soldier was trying to help or hurt him. 

As sarcastic as ever, even when he was laying it what could potentially be his snowy deathbed, he brought in as much air as his lungs would accept and said, “What do you think? Do I look like I'm withering in agony?” 

The soldiers scrutinizing gaze shifted from his arm and side to his face, eyes still searching but then suddenly stopping, growing wide. The malicious smile forming on his face clued him in on whether he was going to help or harm him.

“Oh. It's you.” A small puff of visible laughter left his mouth, “You've been a pain, I hope you know.” He suddenly stood up from his kneeling position and rounded back to his original place, standing next to his head. The soldier reached a hand out, roughly grabbing the back of his jacket's collar. He made a sputtering sound as the front of his jacket's collar cut off his supply of air. His back arched into a somewhat upright position, giving him a clear view of red, blue, and the blinding white light of snow. As his vision began to focus, his breath hitched and his eyes widened, the pounding in his ears almost deafening; the burning began.

“Don't wor- we'll fix- better than befo-” The pounding in his ears did not let up as he stared down in horror. He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. Yet, as his body jolted in his bed, eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling, his subconscious knew the strain may have killed him alone back then. His eyes drifted to his left shoulder, scars spanning out as far as his neck and shoulder blade could be seen, jagged and rough. Why couldn't the soldier have just left him? He would've much rather dealt with that than the years of manipulating that scarred him.

“Are you okay, sir?” Came the quiet voice of what he could only assume was a female, he had yet to know considering he could still hear – and feel – the pounding of his blood rushing through his head.

“What?” He let out as nothing more than a whisper as his fists clenched the sheets under him, he mindlessly noted the large tears in them – Had he done that?

“Sir, it's okay, just breathe, okay? Everything is okay, everyone is okay, we're okay, just breathe.” The nurse, who was keeping a rather large distance between them, nervously said, a wavering in her voice signaling her discomfort. His right hand curled and his fingernails, which had not been taken care of for a long period of time, punctured his palm to resist the urge to rip out the needles lying under his skin to quickly eliminate the only possible threat in the room.

“Everything is not okay.” He breathed out with a slight gravel in his voice, “Things are never okay.” The nurse was shaking like a leaf, hands held up, open and empty palm facing outwards as if to defend herself with a push. His train of thought turned grim, thinking to himself that if he had attacked her in his blind rage after waking from such a fitful sleep, she would not have lasted a second. His breathing began to calm down as he stared at the blank wall to his right.

The nurse reached out and lightly placed her hand on his right shoulder now that he seemed to be sated. “Please, stay here sir, I will go grab a doctor and you'll be okay, don't worry, we'll fix you up and you'll be-” The girl's mindless rant ended as he ripped the covers off and stood quickly, the needles that once were sunken into his skin hung loosely, dripping clear liquid.

“DON'T YOU DARE TOUCH ME!” He growled, the look in his eye made the nurse aware that he had every intention to harm her if she did not obey his command. She let out a shrill scream and ran out of the room, the clap of her shoes and the echo of her scream the only reminder than she had even been there.

He backed up against the nearest wall and knocked his head softly into it, slowly sliding down as his hands crawled up his face and into his hair, tugging a bit forcefully. “Don't ever touch me again, don't talk to me, don't even look at me.” He whispered to himself as he gently rocked back and forth. “No one gave you the right to take a persons life and tear it apart, mentally and physically.” He kept quietly ranting, softly touching his left shoulder. He could hear the loud pounding of footsteps, probably mostly men, men with guns, all possible threats he would be forced to eradicate. He let out a forced, humorless laugh and he noted with dull amusement that he felt just as numb as he did that day. 

Things really were never okay after he fell so long ago.

**Author's Note:**

> So, everyone remember that one scene in CA:WS? It's really blurry and just a flashback of what happened to Bucky but I decided, "You know what, I'm going to write something about that!" It's the scene where you see him being dragged away from his 'landing' spot, arm a bloody stump and holy shit the snow was blinding.
> 
> This was originally for a school project, it still is a school project, teacher gave it a...97/100 I believe and the 3 points off were just because of the lack of names. I can understand why but oh well, I wanted to keep it vague.


End file.
